


The Chosen of Loki

by JustAround



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 14:07:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14916789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAround/pseuds/JustAround
Summary: After finding out the truth of his own family, Loki understand the plight of a grieving follower and may be willing to risk everything to help him.





	The Chosen of Loki

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place directly after the first Thor movie and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Playing with timelines a bit. I don't own anything in this fic; everything is either owned by Marvel or J.K. Rowling.

He wasn’t really falling.

There was a weightlessness as he traveled away from Asgard, his body being pushed and pulled every which way as he drifted farther away from a place he had called home for the many millennia of his life, a place that was not the home he once believed. He could have forced his way back, if he had wanted.

But why travel back to a place that was no longer home?

Once, Loki believed there would never be a time when he was not scheming, was not planning. His contingency plans had contingencies, always had a way to sneak out of certain failure. Always knew when to fully avoid final defeat. He never realized how fully he was playing into Odin’s hands, letting Odin use him as a tool to better Thor. He was not really a true son; he was only there to prepare the true heir to the Throne.

No, he could not go back. But he had no plan for the way forward.

Instead, he allowed himself to drift, allowed all of his many plans to slip away. Just be.

Maybe that’s why he heard it. A faint cry, a call, a feeling of utter devastation echoing through the stars, tearing Loki out of his state of despair. His body jerked unconsciously at the emotion, his eyes gazing around as he searched for the source. Only the vastness of space greeted him. Yet, in the space of a single breath he did not need to take, he saw movement from the corner of his eyes. He had wandered far, it seems, as unknown creatures appeared from the empty space around him, grabbing at him as he strained to identify just what he heard.

The apathy that had overtaken him since his desertion of Asgard dissolved in a single movement of his hand, the magic he had spent centuries taming eagerly responding. The creatures were rendered harmless with just that single movement and he reached, stretching his body to grab the magic that had sent him the call. Other creatures appeared, reaching their their claws around him, grabbing him in an attempt to steal him away. Just a thought of his magic was all it took to summon doubles of himself, the creatures dropping him out of shock as they grabbed at the other copies. With one last push of his magic, one last focused grasp on that call, he leapt out of their reach…

And materialized in a field on Midgard.

Loki stood, unsure of himself, as he slowly panned the unfamiliar surroundings. Darkness was slowly starting to fall, the last remnants of the sun’s rays visible over the horizon. Wildflowers brushed against his ankles, their scent of life causing him to involuntarily close his eyes, and breath in the freshness of the smell. Too long had he been troubled by the lies of Odin to appreciate the small joys of life. For a moment, Loki let go of all his pain, all of his anger, and allowed himself to relish in the life around him, the plants growing heedless of the humans around them. For just that moment in time, Loki felt peace.

A familiar sound drifted towards him. He tensed, recognizing it, knew it before he even fully grasped the notes of despair. He stepped forward, the flowers dragging against his cloak, a few leaving just a trace of pollen as he headed towards the source of the noise. No, not noise. In truth, it was only the hint of a disruption of air; no, what Loki truly heard was in the very being of his soul.

One of his chosen was calling.

It had been decades since a follower had reached out to him, demanded his presence. Being a trickster god, most disciples simply found a way around their problems. It was rare indeed for one to seek him out. It piqued his interest, allowing some of his own lethargy to flow away from him, giving him the needed curiosity to respond.

The field traveled to the base of a small hill, which he quickly traversed, before halting suddenly. A small and rather rundown cemetery lay in front of him. That was not a place for a trickster such as himself; he tended to avoid places of death, not wanting to intrude on the finality of the resting places. Gritting his teeth, he walked at a slower pace, his eyes already zeroing in on a single person kneeling before a freshly filled grave, their head bowed in anguish. Without a question, Loki knew it was his follower. Of course. Why else would one of his be calling, when they have stared at that which a trick cannot bring back?

The boy - man, really, though not by much - did not even twitch to acknowledge his presence. It was as if he did not truly care that another being was intruding into his space. For a moment, Loki felt a burst of anger, wanting to berate the unknown man for his recklessness, for allowing a stranger to sneak up on him without bothering to prepare himself. But as quickly as the anger had come, he allowed it to dissipate.

This was a cemetery after all. Many people let down their guard around the dead.

He stopped a mere few feet behind the man, close enough to see his back stiffen as he realized he was no longer alone. Even with the knowledge that the man was obviously traumatized by the death of someone important to him, Loki could not help but get a perverse sense of pleasure as he felt the frustration, annoyance, anger, radiating from the red-haired stranger. Seconds turned into minutes until finally, the man turned and hissed -

“What are…” he trailed off as he turned, realizing the person behind him was an unknown stranger. Silence stretched between them until finally the man said, “Who are you?”

“You mean you don’t know who you have called unto this plane?” Loki asked, allowing the familiar arrogance to fill his words. Follower or now, Loki was a god that deserved respect.

The man started momentarily at the words, before his face twisted in anger. “I didn’t call anyone. Leave me alone.”

Pushing himself off the ground, the red-haired man stood and faced him. While there was only an inch of height between the two, the presence of the other man almost made him seem as tall as the god of mischief. In spite of himself, Loki was impressed. The man, on the other hand, showed no fealty towards his own god. Instead, he attempted to shoulder by him -

_The man - only this time, younger, and with another who looked just liked him - laughed as an older boy scolded them, telling them off for their pranks._

_He was leaning over a cauldron, nodding as the other look-a-like - his twin - told him what to add next._

_Both of the twins laughing as fireworks went off, and a woman dressed in a cringing pink sprinting towards the firework in a vain attempt to stop it._

_A paler version of the man and his twin sat together, speaking quickly into a magical microphone, their heads bowed in respect as they read the tragic news they were given._

_The man, bending over so his forehead touched that of his dead twin, sobs shaking his body as he wished for the impossible._

The visions ended as suddenly as they had started. Loki and the man - George, he knew all his followers names - stared at each other. In the time it took for one to draw a breath, both realized who the other was. They had known of each others existence, since the moment George and Fred Weasley were born, but never had the god appeared to help them. After all, they were quite talented on their own, never needing the help of others to complete their master plans.

Until now.

“I don’t…how…” George’s voice trailed off as he stared at Loki, at a loss on how to address the god in front of him. Loki stood silent, studying the bedraggled wizard, taking in the shadow’s under his eyes, the gauntness of his skin. The confusion of a man no longer sure how to deal with the world without his other half.

Perhaps it was the recent knowledge of his own heritage that influenced his actions. He understood the pain of the wizard, the gaping hole left in Loki’s own soul at the loss of family. To know that Odin only took him to better a treaty, to train his own biological son…that leaves a tear in a soul that can never be repaired. Loki would never wish that pain upon anyone, least of all followers that had remained true to the ways of mischief.

“I may be able to help,” Loki said, his gaze piercing as he stared at George. “Odin may owe me a boon, and I intend to collect.”

“You could bring him back?” George choked, and Loki could see the a strand of hope lift in the man.

“I can try,” Loki countered. “But I will require assistance getting back to Asgard. I cannot travel back the way I came.”

He could see the wizard’s spirits damper slightly at the correction, but there was still more animation in his eyes, his movements, than before. Even that sliver of hope was enough to bring life back to the man. “You’ll come back to the Burrow with me, yeah? There’s loads of folk who might be able to help.”

Loki nodded, all the consent that was needed for George to give him a faint grin before turning back home. With only the slightest hesitation, Loki followed him down a beaten path, only slightly apprehensive for what may lay in store.

He magicked his cloak into wizard’s robes as they walked. Just in case.


End file.
